


Take My Love, Take My Land

by trajektoria



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunion, moving on but not really, saying goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after Sherlock's death John decides that it's time to move on and start living anew. He goes to the cemetery to say goodbye to his flatmate, his best friend, the love of his life. </p>
<p>Fic inspired heavily by Firefly and the "Mal's Song".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Love, Take My Land

John walked slowly through the cemetery, thinking how lifeless the world looked today. The sky was ashen, painted in a dull, homogeneous shade of grey. There were no sounds, no birds chirping, no beeping of horns, nothing. Only John's steady footsteps on a gravel path were resonating in the absolute silence of the necropolis. The air seemed stale and heavy like in a room that hadn't been opened for years. No trace of wind among the graphite leaves, no gentle blows to ease the pain and chase away all the undesirable thoughts. John wished it was raining. Or storming. It's always easier when the sky at least pretends to weep with you. Instead, the whole place seemed to be wrapped in a shroud, waiting apathetically for its funeral.

John finally stopped and tried to shake off his melancholic observations, knowing how irrational they were. Sherlock would probably have a field day if he only knew. If.

"It's been three years already, " said John thoughtfully, staring at the tombstone adorned with yellow letters forming the name SHERLOCK HOLMES. "Feels like a lifetime, though. When you died..." He stopped suddenly. Even after three years those words still were painful. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered the strength to continue. "When you died, I felt lost and empty, just as if someone took the sky from me, took the sun, took everything. I couldn't go on, I couldn't. I just kept staring blankly at the wall, blaming myself for all that happened. I was certain that I truly died right beside you, there on a street. The moment I saw your mutilated body, everything was gone. I was nothing more than a hollow, breathing shell. My life's been like a coma... " He paused, lost in memories. Then he took a deep breath and continued, knowing this was his last chance to say everything. "But time heals, Sherlock. At first I didn't believe it. Then one day it just happened. I woke up and realised that I want to live again. It's been hard, it still is, though. And now... You won't see no tears when I say goodbye, I have none left. But it's true Sherlock, it's our goodbye. I'm leaving London, I'm leaving England. Forever. I'm never coming back. I just can't stay here, not anymore. I have to find my serenity somewhere else. I've... I've packed everything I need." He shook his hand, in which he held a simple, medium-sized bag. "Well, it's not much, I never had many things. After all, most stuff in our flat belonged to you... I took your scarf though, I hope you don't mind. And... And that purple shirt. You know, the one that always drove women insane. I tried it on but you definitely looked better in it," he attempted to laugh, but the sound that left his throat was closer to a muffled choke. Something was burning inside his chest, he felt like he was drowning. Slowly submerging into the dark and cold abyss, his heart and lungs screaming with pain.

He knew he could't stay here any longer or he would fall apart again. He made a decision and he couldn't go back now if he really wanted to live.

John stared at the tombstone and gave it a salute, showing respect to his deceased friend.

"I loved you, Sherlock, and I always will. I pray we're going to see each other again, because God knows you deserve a punch in the face," he smiled weakly, misty-eyed, voice failing him. "Farewell, Sherlock."

The doctor looked at his friend's grave for the last time. He couldn't dawdle any longer, he had a plane to catch.

John turned around and froze. The bag fell from his numb fingers and landed on the ground with a thud, but John didn't care. He stopped blinking, stopped breathing and he felt that his heart stopped beating as well. He couldn't believe neither his eyes nor ears.

"I'm proud of you, John".


End file.
